The thieve of History

 The British Museum was magnificent—as magnificent as I expected—oh, it may be even more sublime, more gorgeous than I expected. It was just the grandest, literally, museum in the world. The furniture was luxurious, with gold insets and velvet intersperse, lying on every single side of each giant room. Tons of ancient relics were lying in the glass showcase, reflecting the soft golden light generated by chandeliers, signaling the profound history of cultures and civilizations. The first week was relaxing and enjoyable, but as I was retreating to the Warfield of Treasure and History on a dim Friday, I noticed something uncommon. 


It was a Friday afternoon, with millions of millions of liquids cluttered on the top of the British city, I was wandering across the complicated corridors when suddenly I noticed a dark shadow behind a giant piece of glass. I walked through those endless shelves, trying to discover a way toward the door, but the shadow just faded in the dim, soft golden light with a flash of wind overcoming my collar and tie. I felt the wind rushing through my skin and my lungs, as the shadow, rustling, suddenly disappeared, with ashes muffling my sight. The smell of tobacco in the 19th century, combined with soot and roast fruit, swarmed into my nose, and I blew them out. I could imagine my distorting face, covering my face with a silk handkerchief, escaping from the mysterious place as fast as I could. 


I hurried outside the museum, the sun going down and streetlights turning on, shadowing the dim light, punctuating the dense atmosphere of moisture and fog. It was a peaceful night, not even the wind was rushing across the street, but I could feel something uncommon approaching, trying to occupy my thoughts, driving me into a huge whirlpool I could hardly understand. I could feel my desire to return to the museum, to open the showcase, to grab the relic, and to take it out with no reason. It was going to ruin my career as a museum worker, I thought, trying to derive away this eccentric and thrilling idea. The sky was now totally dark, but I could feel the fire of desire going furious, trying to go out of my breast. I could not wait to hurry back to the museum. 


I went back to the museum, starring at the Iron Gate and the ancient Greek pillar, starring at the magnificent characters and anaglyph on the marble roof, sinking in the strange silence of the museum night, it was like the first night when I went into the cinema, watching the famous, miraculous film Night at the Museum. I could even remember that the tomb of the Pharaoh was shaking, and the stone guardians were waving their weapons, just like waving a truck in the air. I opened the huge iron gate with all my bravery, and slowly, rambled inside the museum. 


It was all dark. Everything was in their place, peacefully. Without people shouting, or wondering, the museum was in a strange regulatory theme, filling the air with a strange substance that calmed me down. I slowly approached the corridor where I met the shadow for the first time. 


It was there! The shadow was still there! The glass window was open, and in the darkness of night, I could hear a rustling sound shaking in front of the dark shadow. I quickly approached, when the shadow dilated, standing up inside the dim light, and flying towards me slowly without a single sound. When I realized it, it pushed my silk handkerchief from my pocket, threw it into a huge sack (which I didn’t notice even a few seconds ago), and disappeared in the night of darkness.


The bell rang, and I was caught, with the crime of stealing.

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